


What's Done in the Dark

by Tyllup



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 05:12:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3798028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyllup/pseuds/Tyllup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was always bound to happen between them. There was a tension that had always lingered there when they were alone together with neither of them willing to cross the line that would change their relationship into something beyond purely professional or just friendship. Once it's crossed, though, Wesley sees that when it comes to a physical relationship, Wilson doesn't hold back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Done in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This will be part one of (?) to a series of unrelated smut ficlets involving these two. I wanted to explore the many faces of Fisk that Wesley gets to see fairly regularly and that he would see more intimately.  
> Basically, these just excuses to write a bunch of sex~

Even here the smell of blood was lingering in his nostrils. James drew in a deep breath of the dank night air and lifted his gaze to the sky. There weren’t any stars to be seen due to the light pollution and it made him wistful for another place, somewhere that he could see the night sky, if only so he could focus on something else besides the screams coming from the run down warehouse that he’d stepped out of. 

Wilson had a temper on him. The man always had if Wesley were being honest with himself. Anger he didn’t mind so much, but violence in excess was revolting. He hated the sight of blood, meat, and bone that seemed to follow Wilson’s outbursts. The screams and pleading had died away leaving nothing but the wet sounds of thick blood meeting concrete from the interior of the building or the occasional cracking of bone. Try as he might, he couldn’t help Wilson keep that anger in check. He would watch it ebb and flow as if it were a living thing, breathing, growing and shrinking back. He could see it there in Fisk’s eyes, that monster that Wilson so worried he was, lurking, waiting to be let out, and sometimes it was. 

Quiet fell. Wesley cast a glance towards the door, momentarily worried until Wilson appeared in the doorway. Neither of them spoke and he was glad. Loving something meant slowly forgetting what one hated about it. He’d never say so out loud, but he hated seeing Wilson lose control like this. It was base, animal, and disgusting, leaving Wilson covered in splatters of crimson. It stained the larger man’s skin and soaked into his suit. James had to fight the urge to look away. 

Wilson was breathing heavily and his body was still tense, which meant he hadn’t gotten out whatever anger was still pent up. James hoped that it would ease away during their car ride as it usually would. Whenever these sorts of things happened, Wilson got out what he was feeling or he bottled back up whatever was left. He slipped a handkerchief from his pocket and didn’t bother to offer it out. The square of fabric wouldn’t have done much by way of cleaning Wilson up. Instead, he pressed it somewhat discreetly to his nose and inhaled the fresh scent of detergent as Wilson moved past him towards the car that waited. He was glad that he missed the metallic scent that no doubt clung to the other man that wafted past him. 

Glass and gravel crunched under his feet as Wesley turned on his heels to follow after Wilson, the cloth quickly tucked away again. He didn’t much like the idea of being trapped in the car with the smell, but he was sure he could find something else to occupy his mind, to make it less noticeable. He drew up short when he saw Wilson waiting at the car, the back door open wide, but the big man’s gaze back on the warehouse. Fisk’s hands clenched then unclenched, his fingers twitching, showing his agitation. He didn’t seem aware of the fact that anyone else were there and Wesley found himself wondering, not for the first time in their relationship, what was going through Wilson’s head. He started forward, speaking to draw Wilson’s attention away from the nearly dilapidated building. 

“I’ll call someone to clean this up,” He began. Anything he had to follow that up died on his lips when Wilson turned a dark gaze on him. He expected to play the audience as Fisk ranted and yelled, maybe to have Fisk bloody his knuckles as he lashed out again at the nearest inanimate object, the car. In an instant one of those large hands were reaching out. Wilson’s hand curled into a fist, not to make contact with the vehicle, but to wrap around Wesley’s silk tie. James was yanked closer and Wilson’s mouth came down on his, hard and hungry. James tensed at the unexpected contact and it was a second before he willed himself to relax, to accept what was happening as real. 

Wilson was an assault to the senses. He smelled faintly of sweat and expensive cologne mixed with a stronger coppery scent. He was warm, solid beneath the touch as James’s own hands came up instinctively to rest on Fisk’s chest. James had parted his lips, maybe to say something rational in protest, but Fisk only deepened the kiss. 

This was impulsive, brutish, and rough, everything he was against. While he knew he should be putting up more of a fight, he found himself caught up in the taste of Wilson on his lips and the heat that seemed to radiate off of his employer. He’d thought about this before, about how Wilson would feel and how the two of them would be together. He hadn’t really known what he’d expected, but it surely wasn’t that this would happen in a humid parking lot in Hell’s Kitchen. 

Wilson turned them and his hands gripped James’s ass to heft him up onto the back seat as if he weighed nothing at all. His legs hung over the edge, parted, and Wilson moved between them. Wilson’s hands gripped the front of Wesley’s shirt and he yanked, sending buttons popping in every direction. In the back of his mind, James found himself mildly annoyed at the loss of such a nice dress shirt and at his own arousal at the blatant display of strength. 

The kiss ended, leaving them both panting for breath. Wesley lifted a hand to remove his glasses, they had gone askew at some point, and without looking away from Wilson, he spoke to the driver. 

“Shouldn’t you be finding something else to do with yourself?” The words were greeted with silence and James finally cast a pointed look to the man behind the wheel. The driver looked momentarily confused (where was he expected to go?) before scrambling out and giving them privacy. Wilson’s rough hands were already hastily running along Wesley’s sides and finally came to rest at his hips. They tightened their hold then relaxed again as Wilson grasped for control, and the desperate assault came to a halt only briefly. Wilson’s tongue darted out to swipe across his bottom lip and those dark eyes were devouring every inch of flushed exposed skin before him. James swallowed hard.

“Do you want me to stop?” Wilson’s voice was a low rumble that bordered on a warning. Wesley knew him well enough to know what it meant. If he didn’t want this, now was the time to say so. Even as the question was posed, Wilson’s thigh came up between James’s legs, pressing against his groin, and James rocked his hips forward without thinking. Wilson’s eyes narrowed and he went stock still.

“No.” James stated simply. He would have sounded unmoved if his uneven breathing weren’t taken into account. 

That was all the permission Wilson needed. Wesley was tugged to the edge of the seat, his neatly pressed slacks forced down off of his hips, and his clothes were shoved and tugged enough to leave his ass bare. There was a slow burn starting in him, one that Fisk seemed to know how to expertly kindle and fan into a full on flame, and it was all he could do to keep still and not just let go.

Wilson dipped his head down, mouth moving over Wesley’s skin, biting, sucking, marking him. As if there were any question about who he belonged to. His hands reached out to grasp Wilson’s suit, only to jerk back as if he’d been burned when he felt just how soaked in blood the cloth was. He fought back a momentary wave of revulsion and closed his eyes. His hands dropped to the buttery leather of the car’s seat instead and he clutched it tightly. He focused on the feeling of Wilson, of the sound of the other man’s labored breathing, of how the larger man’s mouth moved against his skin. Whatever disgust he’d felt left as quickly as it’d come and his focus moved wholly to the other man.

He was vaguely aware of Wilson’s hands dipping between their bodies and of the sound of a belt buckle being undone. It was a moment later that Wilson was spitting in his hand, lubing up his hard cock, then pressing against Wesley’s hole. James let out a loud moan as Wilson pushed in and stretched him. He flushed and bit his bottom lip to keep the sound from escaping him again. It hurt, but he wasn’t given much of a chance to dwell on the fact. As soon as their hips were pressed flush against one another, Wilson was moving, beginning to fuck him fast and hard, with a sort of urgency that spoke of how much Wilson needed this. It wasn’t just about the sex, it was about release, and getting whatever he hadn’t been able to get inside of that warehouse. James had done his best to keep quiet at first, but with each thrust, it became harder to keep his composure, harder still to keep quiet. It wasn’t long before soft moans escaped him, mixing with Wilson’s own. 

James could feel one of Wilson’s hands grip his hip tightly enough that he was sure it would bruise and the other lifted to wrap around his throat. Wilson forced him back onto the seat so he was laying, and the larger man’s fingers began to tighten around his neck, enough to apply a bit of pressure but not enough to cut off his air supply. James gripped Wilson’s wrist as he felt another thrill of arousal take. The line between pain and pleasure was blurring and he was quickly losing whatever inhibitions he’d still had. 

“Sir…” James gasped as Wilson began to take him deeper, faster. Fisk practically growled in response and he corrected the error, letting out a breathy, “Wilson.” Fisk let out a sound, too low to be a moan that bordered on a rumbled of pleasure. 

“Again. Let me hear you say my name again.”

“Wilson.” This time, James’s voice was louder, broken by the force of Wilson slamming into him.

The distant echoes of the city around them mixed with the groaning of the car and the sounds of skin meeting skin. Wilson was too far gone to speak up again into reply, but James could have sworn he’d heard Fisk murmur his name, low and soft, barely there. Maybe it was just his imagination. Either way, it was enough to have Wesley coming. His body tensed and shuddered as he was struck momentarily mindless with the force of his orgasm. He tightened around Wilson’s length and he heard the other man grunt at the feeling.  
There was a moment when Wilson’s fingers tightened again, cutting off Wesley’s air supply, and with a few more unsteady thrusts Wilson was filling him up. Black began to seep its way into James’s vision just before Wilson released him as he was able to suck in a breath of fresh air. There was a sort of calm that fell as they both panted, trying to catch their breath, and rested in the aftermath of what had just happened. It was Wilson found his voice first.

“I’m sorry, Wesley.” Wilson’s hands were back at James’s hips, lingering there, then running up along James’s skin, almost reverently now, with a gentleness that had been missing before. Fingers traced over the planes and valleys of pale flesh, pausing now and then so that Wilson’s thumbs could brush lightly against one of the marks that had been left.  
James lifted himself up on his elbows, his brows furrowing as he considered the meaning of the apology. Was Wilson sorry that he’d been so rough, that it had been Wesley that had taken the brunt of his anger, or that they’d just had sex? Did it really matter?

“You shouldn’t be.” 

Wilson went still and even in the shadow of the car’s interior James could feel the other man’s gaze searching him for some sign of… Something. A lie, perhaps? Wesley couldn’t say for sure. Wilson let out a long breath and his body bowed as he dropped his head down to rest it on Wesley’s chest. James sat there for a while before lifting a hand to rest it at the back of Wilson’s neck, fingers rubbing absently in the hopes that it was what Wilson needed. They both wanted to say more, but neither did.


End file.
